


Gains and Goofs

by seraphinite



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, This Is Incredibly Self Indulgent, gender neutral reader, i am but a simple snuggle bug and these two are my current targets, i wanna hang out on beel's back while he does pushups, thats it thats the inspiration behind this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:47:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24457681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seraphinite/pseuds/seraphinite
Summary: Beel just wants to do pushups. Belphie is a brat. MC gets stuck between them :)
Relationships: Beelzebub/Belphegor (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader
Comments: 22
Kudos: 273





	Gains and Goofs

Hell has officially frozen over.

Sort of. Not all of Hell—just your little corner of it. Specifically just the House of Lamentation. 

The AC broke. Of course it didn’t break  _ normally _ though—oh no, it just so happened to be the one AC unit in all of the Devildom that broke by chilling the house to arctic temperatures. It’s not even an exaggeration—the windows are freezing over.  _ From the inside _ .

If Lucifer hadn’t taken your D.D.D hostage, you would’ve followed through on your threat to call up Lord Diavolo and beg to stay at the demon lord’s palace. Lucifer might enjoy suffering in this arctic hell, but you sure as heck don’t. The whole thing is such a shame, really—the lonely prince would have totally loved the imposing company. 

Alas, you’ll probably never see him again. RIP to your biweekly sessions of afternoon tea and gossip. By your calculations, you are precisely 96 minutes away from turning into a human popsicle. You probably would have lasted longer, were it not for the thieving and hoarding of a certain  _ snuggle monster _ .

The snuggle monster in question, Belphie, is in his bed, tucked away within a massive fortress of blankets. The little shit had gone into your room and stolen yours, as well as Beel's, and Spiderman only knows who else's—you can hardly see him amidst all the colorful fabrics. A flash of skin here, a patch of clothing there—he's so wrapped up that you aren't even sure if he's  _ breathing _ . 

And then there's you. Halfway tangled in Belphie's nest, halfway out in the cold and violently shivering your tush off. You had desperately tried to squirm your way into the mass of fabric, but Belphie was a  _ master  _ at cocooning himself. The layers of blankets made for a frustratingly effective armor, and your unsuccessful efforts left you sprawled on top of him, miserably tangled up in the first two layers like a fish in a net.

You are  _ suffering _ . 

Even your high-and-mighty roommates are suffering. Last time you had seen him, Lucifer had been wearing his jacket  _ normally _ —not like some kind of cool, vampire-y cape. Even Asmo, Mr. I-Wear-Sleeveless-Shirts-In-Freezing-Weather had caved and bundled up in layers. Cashmere, respectively. 

You’re pretty sure that Levi has gone into a deep-sleep coma, much like a Floridian iguana. The poor, cold-blooded thing. At least he’s sleeping for once. He’ll be fine. Probably. You don’t know how Satan and Mammon are dealing with the cold. Because of their silence, you’ve come to the conclusion that they’ve also frozen solid and perished. They will all be missed.

There is only one member of this household that is _not_ suffering. One could even say he’s _thriving_. And who might that be?

Beelzebub. 

Apparently, one side effect of having a black hole for a stomach is an insanely fast metabolism—Beel constantly runs warm because of it. He may as well have a bonfire in his tummy—that boy is like a damned furnace. You could roast marshmallows in the heat that comes off his body. Really good ones, with just the right balance between crisp and fluff.

Needless to say, Beel is enjoying these tundra temperatures. At some point during your failed attempt to leech off of Belphie’s snuggles and stolen blankets, Beel had settled into his workout routine—which so far has consisted of pushups. Lots and lots of pushups.

He’s currently somewhere in the upper 400 range, with no signs of slowing down or stopping anytime soon. He’s hardly broken a sweat, and there isn’t a trace of fatigue in his form. His muscles are  _ unbearably  _ distracting—you’re  _ supposed _ to be attacking Belphie’s fortress of warmth. But how on earth are you supposed to concentrate on doing that when the big beefy boi is literally  _ right there  _ looking like a whole snack?

A draft of bitter air wisps over you, and you hug your knees tighter to your chest. Your body feels brittle—like a single touch could shatter you. Your brain is probably more ice than gray matter at this point, and you don’t know how you’re going to fight off the cold. It’s not like Belphie is going to let you warm up in his kingdom of blankets any time soon.

Your eyes tick around the room, looking for something— _ anything _ —that could save you. You glance at the closet—you guess that another sweater or two (or five) might help. Your eyes stray lower, to the floor, and—

Oh. _Oh my._ Now isn’t that a _very_ appealing opportunity.

Beel’s palms are pressed firmly against the floor, elbows slightly bent and back perfectly straight. His eyes are trained steady on the floor space between his large hands, where his D.D.D is playing a video of the cooking show variety. 

_ Perfect. _

You roll off the bed and stagger over to Beel, burying your nose into the collar of your sweater in a feeble attempt to block out the icy air. He’s so focused on the enormous gourmet pizza in the video that he doesn’t notice your presence until you clamber on top of him. 

It’s a feat that you execute with immense precision and grace—you certainly don’t just flop onto his back with a very unattractive “ _ oof” _ and cling onto him in the hopes that you won't just bounce off his back.

And  _ hoo boy _ this is a  _ thousand _ times better than any old mess of blankets. 

Beel pauses on the ascent, which gives you just enough time to wrap your arms loosely around his neck, your legs crossing securely around his lower waist. You cling to him like a baby koala and smile against his firm shoulder. You’ve only just settled, but the warmth of his body is already seeping into your frozen limbs and thawing you out. Oh yes, he’s  _ wonderful _ .

“Whatcha watchin’?” you ask, peeping at the phone.

“Bon App é devil.” Beel says. He carries on with his pushups, completely unaffected by your clingy human antics.

“Is this alright?" 

"Mhm. Just don't fall off, okay?" Beel turns his head slightly to crack a smile at you. When he dips down low to the floor, you can feel how his corded muscles tense and shift, flexing taut each time he completes a pushup. 

"Aye aye captain!" You lift a hand to salute, then the world spins horribly when you lose your balance and pitch to the right. Beel snorts and gives you a second to readjust, unable to move much anyways due to your panicked grappling, then continues once you've securely latched back on.

You stay like this for a good amount of time. You’re not sure how long exactly—the combination of Beel's warmth and the steady rhythm of his pushups has you happily dozing off, but suddenly, you are dragged back to the moment by the fussy sloth monster himself.

From the cozy depths of the blanket mound, a muffled voice slurs, "Where’d you go? Whas goin' on over there?" 

"Pushups." Beel says.

Belphie's head pops out of the blankets—tufts of hair sticking up at odd angles, eyes glassy from sleep—and you're a bit surprised because you thought his  _ butt  _ had been there. Had you been laying on his  _ head _ that whole time??

You shoot him a grin that is most certainly not smug in any way shape or form. “'Sup, Bells?"

Belphie sits up with a great big stretch, then collapses back onto the mattress with all the grace of a discombobulated panda. He squints at you. “What are you doing? You’re supposed to be snuggling with  _ me _ ."

"You call  _ that _ snuggling?" you say. "You wouldn't even let me in the blankets! I was  _ freezing _ ."

A lazy smile pulls at Belphie's lips. "I wanted you to work for it." 

"You're such an ass." 

Your surroundings stop moving up and down as Beel pauses mid-pushup to click on a new video. When he resumes, Belphie reaches out to you like a child and whines, " _ Come baaaaaack _ ."

You cling tighter to Beel. "No way. This is a thousand times better than just laying on a bed."

"Oh, really?” 

He’s got  _ that  _ tone in his voice. The  _ plotting  _ tone.

You’re expecting him to do something petty—pry you off of Beel and haul you to the bed, or push you to the ground and take your place. 

You’re  _ not  _ expecting him to collapse on top of you and  _ crush  _ you like a bug, but that’s exactly what he does. He laughs at the pathetic wheeze that’s squeezed out of your lungs and winds his arms snugly around you and Beel, at the same time hooking his ankles around Beel’s and effectively caging you with his body.

Somehow, throughout the whole ordeal, Beel manages to keep doing pushups. It’s impressive and a little bit scary.

“Go away, you jerk!” you twist your hips, trying to knock Belphie off your back, but he just clutches onto you like a determined and horrible sloth. 

“Hey, you were right. This is nice.” Belphie snuggles his face into the crook of your neck with a happy hum and squeezes you tighter. You can’t move. This is not in accordance with your plan. “We should do this more often.” 

“ _ You’re squishing me _ ,” you wheeze.

“Don’t be such a wimp, you’re fine.” 

“Can you two stop squirming? It’s getting hard to focus.” Beel says.

Defeated, you let out an exaggerated sigh and go limp. No point in holding on when Belphie’s doing all the work for you. 

This isn’t  _ so _ bad, you suppose. Being stuck in the middle of a demon sandwich. Maybe it’s even a little bit nice. The twins  _ are  _ cozy and warm, and they smell like a homey combo of sugar and spice—it’s only a matter of time before you start to smell like cinnamon cookies. 

As far as broken AC experiences go, this is a surprisingly good one. You could be worse off—like, for example, Levi, who you’ve completely forgotten about, what with him being all  _ comatose _ . You were supposed to check on him like 30 minutes ago, but he’ll be fine. Probably. You’re having a great time and that’s all that really matters!

Who would’ve guessed that Hell freezing over would turn into such a wonderful experience for you?

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!! xx


End file.
